Pen in my hand,
Door on my side.
Been two hours I simply am sitting.
Could walk off by shutting my copy and breaking the tip of my pen.
But what is it that I want to write but still can't.?
I have so much but still unable to portray.
I realized that I really cannot reveal my pain through my writings because I don't want this world to fall in love with my melancholy.
"Let me live in pain. There is a strange healing".
And I walked off by shutting my copy...
— The End —